


but we're still sleeping like we're lovers

by tasha (lanekim)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Poetry, bev's alive tho so that's nice, dark!Will, everything is angsty and will is p sketchy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:43:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2563631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanekim/pseuds/tasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they smell of blood:<br/>a rough iron scent, mixed with sweat and lust<br/>—manifest, nonetheless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but we're still sleeping like we're lovers

**Author's Note:**

> title from daughter's "still."  
> i was inspired to clean this up by my own procrastinating spirit and the fact that chilton/reader is now a more popular ship than willbev. yikes.

they smell of blood:

                                 a rough iron scent, mixed with sweat and lust

                                                                  —manifest, nonetheless.

this is nothing new for her.

her world is that of corpses

       —those of his design—

of stainless steel glinting under fluorescent lights

and organs, and dark red stains that fade from scarlet to crimson feigning black—

his too.

but the red washes off of her hands—

when she peels off her gloves and the white laboratory coat,

she leaves them and goes                                                                 home.

he goes home and picks up where she leaves off.

 

they play cat and mouse in daylight, though they both _know_ all too well

the night gives cover; they speak candidly.

“candidly.”

 

_it’s the same thing, isn’t it?_

he murmurs into her hair

_you kill them, too_

_what’s the body count,                         bev?_

_five?                 six?                  eight?_

she shivers.

_self-defense._

his clavicle vibrates with the excuse.

he sighs.

he does not push.

he knows their difference.

he does not push.

she plants her teeth more fiercely than before

                                                            before she knew

                                           but she had a mind to know,

                                                always _the mind to know_ —the mind too sharp, too clever and too dogged  

                                                that it should go without.

she is angry: she loves him.

she is angry: she does not care.

                    she cares.

                    she doesn't know if she wants to.

he moans.

q u i e t

. . .

_they             deserve it, beverly._

_they’re               worse than me._

she nods.

let her believe.

            (she does not.

             she does not believe him

              she cannot—

                                     a nature incompatible, but for now the strain does not snap—)

let her.

_yes, they’re worse than us._

                      in the darkness, at least, they are worse.

                      only light births reflection, science tells;

                      she can avoid the mirrors until morning.


End file.
